Ego Ingredior in Abyssus
by Silencieux
Summary: Two doomed priests, two countries, two sides, two wars. Rated T for now, maybe M later.
1. prologue :: Death of a Stranger

----------------**start Disclaimer**----------------  
I do not own Gravity or Ragnarok Online or its concept and bladeebla. Because I just don't.  
This is a heavily modded Ragnarok Online world, with history, monsters, and characters tweaked and sometimes entirely changed by the author. Also, rated T and then M later because although there isn't much going on right now, it will get a bit grittier in the future.  
----------------**/end Disclaimer**----------------

.prologue :: Death of a Stranger

The night the winds blew the sand in from the far deserts, trouble rode in on the grains. Morroc closed its doors and pressed wet cloths into the crevices of its houses, letting the sand pile against them. It was a miracle anyone saw her - still young, but not fresh, with eyes like dark gems and luminous black hair. A desert jewel, big with child, pushed in by the winds. She was practically in labor already and it was luck that allowed a young boy, an acolyte, to spot her through the flying sand.

She was quickly taken to shelter, but with the town's only midwife trapped in her own home by the storm, she had only the acolyte and two women of the house that took them. Neither was particularly skilled in such affairs, but one was a mother already and she had at the very least a vague idea of what needed to be done. They laid her on the bed, writhing and tearful.

"Quickly!" she hissed at the boy, "papoose root, in the cupboard! I said quickly!"

With shaking hands he ran to find the needed herb while the woman with the dark skin and beautiful eyes moaned in pain. "There now," the other woman whispered, "It will be alright- Althea, do we have any St. John's Wort? It will help with the afterbirth pains."

"No, Lya! It's too dangerous anyways- Ah, good!" The boy placed the tonic in her hands. But as she went to administer it, the woman spoke through her heaves and cries.

"I did not... I will not!" she almost screamed through her pain. "No valkyrie could tear me away from her now, with heart of wrath and- and-!"

"Babbling nonsense," Althea muttered with gritted teeth.

The storm roared outside, grabbing their dwelling and shaking it as though a beast had gotten hold of them. At times it seemed the storm threatened to take the house apart, but the women did not cower or leave her side, the boy used his meager skills from the Church to help the birth as well as he could, but at times could not watch. In the end the sweat-covered woman, still panting from pain held, close to her breast an anomaly - a child of white, wailing with new life.

"She is bleeding," Lya whispered. Althea furrowed her brow. "We need cayenne, and we have none."

All looked on the pale child, waiting for words that would either condemn her unnatural coloring or make her holy by it.

"She is beautiful," came the words of the new mother, kissing the child's face, her voice soft and weak. "She is my Fall."

The child quieted suddenly, eyes opening wide and white.

"And one day," whispered her mother, "she will ascend, my little Fall... my Fall..."

It was not long before she died and her daughter was pulled from her stiffening arms. The child did not wail any longer, cleaned and rocked to sleep by Lya as the boy recited his prayers over her mother's body. When he left for home in Prontera, he took the child with him.


	2. Too Boyish

.o1 :: Too boyish.

They were concerned.

He made that clear when he announced, very authoritarian, "We're concerned," in a very heavy, monotone voice and stared at her with the small black eyes of an old and tired man. This was another interrogation session, also called a 'counseling meeting' to talk to her about her 'moral progress'.

Her progress? Well, obviously they were concerned.

"We are concerned," she wanted to roll her eyes right then when he repeated it, shifting in the cushioned chair uncomfortably, "that you are not perhaps understanding the meaning of the words 'from his rib'."

No, she was not. She had presented her very logical and well thought out argument that it did not make sense for woman to be made from man's rib, because not only did people not come about by the extraction of another person's ribs – Father Eller reminded her that this was god she was talking about, not humans – but also her anatomy books – which she was not supposed to be looking at yet, at her age – also told her that both men and women had the same number of ribs.

"So then you're telling me Adam re-grew his rib."

"Lord have mercy-" oh here he was going to start again. "Listen to me, child, there is no refuting the bible. Why, at your age you should be focusing on other things, more important things. Such as obtaining priesthood. You said yourself your goal was sixteen, and you will have only three years left soon. If you don't start shaping up, you'll be…"

And so it was that an hour later the twelve year old girl was sent stomping out of the office into the bright sunshine, breaking its path of multicolored stripes from where it penetrated into the church through the stained glass windows. In one of her many foul moods, and these seemed to be occurring to her more often these days, she sulked straight on past her oh-so obedient acolyte 'siblings' who called her name and right into the graveyard where a number of priests stood talking. With a determination only the most stubborn of children are capable of, she broke straight through their circle and latched on to the waist of one, nearly knocking him over.

"Oh goodness Fall, what is it _now_?" he said with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks, trying to shrug off the chuckles of the other priests. It seemed now that Fall was getting ready to enter the magical age of puberty, which all understood to be about as magical as a possum's ass, Father Nihthelm was the butt of many jokes lately.

"I hate Father Eller," she pouted, hiding her face in his robes. He sighed. This again. "No, you do not."

"Yes," she insisted without pulling away, "I do."

"Let's take a walk then, shall we?" he said as he excused himself from the group, taking ahold of the young girl's wrists and prying her off him. She held his hand as they walked, as if still a small child.

But that was not so, Fall was nearly thirteen now. She was thin and gangly in a way that made her acolyte uniform hang off her awkwardly, but she was not small enough to be mistaken for anything younger. She kept her white hair short, cropped at her chin with neatly cut bangs, unlike the other girls who wished to imitate the long, flowing locks of their priestess role models. They wanted to be graceful and modest, yet powerful and dependable. But it had always seemed to Aaviel Nihthelm that Fall wanted more to be a boy, in the way that she thought being brash, loud, and too energetic to be healthy were the perfect qualities of a priestess-to-be. And then when things didn't go her way, throw a fit over it. Oh, how she'd changed so much from the quiet and fearful orphan he'd brought with him all those years ago.

But then, so had he. So had everyone. He was taller, prouder now, not a frightened boy who stuttered his prayers and could not even save a woman dying in childbirth. Rather, he was much admired, quick witted and a force to be reckoned with in battle. One of the few who could go into the cursed place without vanishing forever, a victim to its horrors. He would've been High Priest long ago, had he not diverted most of his time from his studies to take care of Fall. But that was a joyful obligation of his.

Well, except for times like these.

"What have you been doing now, Fall? Did you go on about Adam and Eve yet again? You're not the first, you know, he's heard all of it before."

Having received the opposite of the coddling and comforting reaction she was hoping for from him, Fall simply continued to pout silently as he led them around the church and through the back streets of Prontera. He was fine with that, he was accustomed to her being upset with him, and so Aaviel continued. "I think you're missing the point of those talks, though. We all have different ways of interpreting what we're taught. But you're getting too caught up in the small things when you should be dealing more enthusiastically with your training. When you're a priestess, you will have plenty of time to decide your own way of doing things."

They continued to travel through the sunlit streets of the capital city hand in hand, a sweet summer breeze moving the leaves of the trees that adorned the city. Her pout remained firmly in place on her features, and he began to suspect that Fall was more upset about something other than her wrestling of ideas with Father Eller. It normally did not take this long for him to calm her down.

"What is it you're really upset about? It's not Adam and Eve, I know that much," he stated as though it were the answer to a question.

"Marlia told me you're going away again."

"Sister Marlia," he corrected. "Yes, I and a few others will be making a trip to Glast Heim, but-"

"Don't!"

She let go of his hand now and stepped back, her expression caught between a half glare and her ever-present pout. Dropping down to kneel before her, Aaviel put his hands on her small shoulders, locks of ink-black hair falling over his shoulders. Her hands stretched out and she grasped them lightly, tugging gently in an almost disciplinary manner. "No leaving," she said it forcefully, as if it could stop him. "I don't like it when you go to such a dangerous place. It used to be okay for humans, but it's not the same anymore."

"You talk as if you've been there," teased the priest with a small laugh, but just smiled a little sadly as she began to cry in frustration. "Ah, Fall," she was happy to be pulled into a hug. "Don't cry like that, you know nothing is going to happen. I will be with High Priestess Alindra."

"You're going to miss my birthday."

"But I'll be there for the next one."

"… yeah."

---

The late summer withered and died, crumbling into the cold of an early autumn and Aaviel left with a few crusaders from the Church and the High Priestess. On the edge of winter her birthday came and went, spent studying for priestess preliminary examinations that would test her on biblical knowledge, interpretation, and memorization of her skills. The next few years would be spent practicing them. Unsurprisingly, she failed the interpretation half of her examinations. Perhaps, she considered, if she just put down what everyone else did she'd pass.

In the rainy nights of winter storms she wrote him letters that she knew she would never send, since he had no address on the road. When she was idle she'd watch the knights training, even in the cold rains of December, watching them wince as the abusive words of their instructors pelted them like icy rain.

And in the spring he returned, only to find her gone. It was time, now that the final years were approaching, she went out on missions of her own. She was working with archers currently, Father Eller explained when a somewhat flustered Nihthelm questioned him.

"It will give you a rest, at the very least," he said with a sort of satisfaction in his voice, as if Aaviel's freedom from Fall was a triumph for himself as well. "And she will learn much more out there than here. She will be back soon."

"Is there a way I can get a message to her?"

A graying eyebrow was raised at this query. Eller was quite aware Nihthelm felt great responsibility for Fall, he was eager to know she was being well taken care of. But it was the tone he used, something bothered him.

"Yes and no. Although she is in Payon, I do not think she will be there long enough for a message to get to her. Might I inquire what is so important that you cannot wait until she gets back?"

"I…" Nihthelm looked to be deciding, "I merely wanted to apologize for missing her birthday."

"Aha." Father Eller shifted in his seat. "Well, I believe that can wait."

"Understood," came a rather stiff reply. Eller's eyes followed him when he left, and it seemed he could not rid himself of the way they burned into his true intentions until he bathed later that evening.


	3. Information of Lolz

The story leaves the Church walls now, so I thought perhaps it'd be appropriate to give a little (haha) background information on this version of the RO world. You can just skip this chapter if you wish, however you might get confused by certain connotations that are applied to various classes, places, and monsters in this fic. That being said, let's begin.

**A brief history**  
Many, many years ago, the kingdom of Rune-Midgard was only the small area of green surrounding Prontera city. The furthering of technology and magic inventions during that time period caused a steady population growth and expansion. The King's armies pathed the way to new lands for cultivation and domestication, expanding first to the north and west of the capital city. They found the abandoned city of Geffenia, renamed it Geffen, and put their first settlers into the old homes of the now-gone wizards, who were said to have built the city. Though none could tell what had made them leave so suddenly that even their smallest possessions remained behind, they were soon to find out. 

To the west, adventurers found an amazing castle-like structure, almost as big as the city of Geffen itself. Though they could not find any record of why or who built it, the wizards of Geffenia called it Glast Heim, or sometimes 'the Valkyrie's Sorrow'. It at first appeared to be empty, but the humans entering disturbed the slumber of long ago sealed away demons and monsters. The trespassing began a series of surges and retreats by the legions of Glast Heim. Many were slaughtered and had it not been for the power and support of the Church, Geffen would have been lost to the monsters. On the final retreat, priests, crusaders, and anyone else still alive were sent directly into Glast Heim to push the demons back into the twisted metal gates for good. It worked, the inhabitants have never again left the walls of Glast Heim, but parties of priests and adventurers are frequently sent into the fortress to keep the number of monsters low. Though many die doing this, the Church and the kingdom of Rune-Midgard feel it is necessary to prevent the massacres from ever happening again.

The final peace in Geffen fueled a new King's desire for an empire. Rune-Midgard expanded south into the lush forests of Payon, once an empire itself. Through a sorrowful combination of xenophobia and misunderstanding, battles broke out between the "invading" forces of Prontera's armies and the archer-peoples of Payon. In the end, Payon became a part of Rune-Midgard's empire with relatively little trouble after its leaders were killed off and has since prospered because of it – though some have never forgotten the old stories. 

The last true battles in Rune-Midgard's lore and history took place in the harsh deserts that surround what is now Morroc, then home to many scattered tribes of indigenous people. Exotic and unbridled, the oasis of Morroc was a trophy that would not come easily. The wars between the desert people and the armies of the King were long and brutal, turning the sand to red mud. Even to this day, the desert frequently reminds its broken children of their lost by churning up the bones from their sandy graves.

The other cities of Rune-Midgard that exist in the present day, Alberta and Comodo, were created out of necessity after the eras of conquring and expansion had ended. Though Rune-Midgard has made contact with many other cultures and countries since these times, never again has it resorted to violence after the battles of the past.

**Classes**  
In Rune-Midgard each Class has its own place in society. Some are looked upon better than others. Class by Class:

Swordsman Classes  
The original army of Prontera was mostly swordsmen and knights. Because of their success and famous role in the creation of the empire, the swordsman occupation is esteemed and honorable. Some knights will specialize in working with the church and become crusaders for its cause. Knights and Crusaders are the main muscle behind Rune-Midgard and the Church's power.

The Acolyte/Holy Classes  
Long before Prontera was anything more than a few houses here and there amongst the trees, Christianity was a small and radical religion that defied the traditional worship of Odin and his warrior servants the valkyries and pushed the new idea of "one God". Even when the kingdom first expanded and took Geffenia, it was nothing more than a small group of misfits. Things did not change until the third king of the newly expanding empire converted to Christianity himself. The religion spread like wildfire then onwards, and now dominates most of Rune-Midgard. Priests and those belonging to the holy order are second only to nobles and very esteemed Knights and Crusaders.

The Merchant Classes - Black/Whitesmiths  
Though one would of course never suspect it, the true backbone of Rune-Midgard is the economy and those who control it. Although the principle of 'power brings wealth' is true, it is also equally valid to note that wealth brings power. Although many merchants struggle to sell their goods on the street, older, more established families have been known to have heavy influence on the workings of the government of Rune-Midgard. The court often finds itself playing to the demands of wealthy merchant families, who help decide the foreign trading policies of the kingdom.

The Merchant Classes - Alchemists and Biochemists  
Reclusive and often disregarded, the true brilliant minds of the world are those who hide away in the libraries of Juno and Aldebaran in the safety of the Schubaltzvalt Republic. The Church and those who study this particular field of science are at a standoff - their conflict defines the argument about the right of humans to challenge God's power. The church has openly declared all alchemists and biochemists who meddle in the science of life - that is, those who attempt to create homunculi - to be heretics and posessed by demons. All Priests and Acolytes are discouraged from having connections to alchemists and biochemists, and from visiting places where their research is prevalent. Though the Church cannot convince all of society to shun them as much as it does their members, they are still seen as outsiders and treated as such.

Mage Classes  
Although advances in magical technologies were made before then also, magic was not fully understood nor used until the discovery of Geffenia. Curious scholars picked up the manuals and scrolls left behind, translating and studying them. Within hardly a generation, magic users flourished in Rune-Midgard, and their abilities proved essential in times of war and conflict. Mages today are respectable, however most have a modest place in society if they are not a part of the courts.

The Thief/Outlaw Classes  
Riff raff. Though their skills have been the most important factor in high stakes games in the past, thieves, rogues, and assassins will always be regarded as the scum of the kingdom. Never mind that many were employed during Rune-Midgard's various wars and contributed greatly, a high profile rogue or assassin that finds him or herself caught will be tied to the gates of Glast Heim to await a gruesome fate at the hands of Rune-Midgard's most feared jury.

The Hunter Class – Archers and Snipers  
The people of Payon have never forgotten their quick defeat, but it has been several generations since the last survivors of the wars died and with them their grudge. Though treated much like mages in that they're not often bothered with and live modestly, archers with exceptional skills are welcome to join Rune-Midgard's army.

The Hunter Class – Gypsies and Bards  
Though they come from the same roots, Gypsies and Bards are in no way regarded as having the same value as their bow-using counterparts. A bard can find himself a somewhat comfortable life on the road as an entertainer, and even a rather luxurious one in the house of a lord. However, gypsies are not given the same respect mostly due to the influence of the church. Hailing from Comodo and Morroc, gypsies and dancing girls are regarded as whores and lowlife seductresses, who use their charms for greed and self-interest.

**End note**  
More may come. If there are updates, the chapter released at that time will say so.


	4. Dead People Smell

.o2 :: Dead People Smell.

"Oh," she had been saying for the past three hours, and now Lysia was starting to get annoyed with her, "it's so very green here."

"I am so glad you've finally taken notice," muttered the impatient archer as she plucked at her bowstring impatiently. Fall's comments on the flora of Payon's forests had made this a very, very long journey indeed. Thank goodness now they were on the last leg of it. She and the other archer, a frail looking blond boy by the name of Irian, had accompanied Fall on her assignment to Payon along with a knight and his apprenticed swordsman. Well, Takraf was a swords-_boy_ as far as Fall was concerned. He couldn't have been any older than her, and he certainly didn't act older.

"I've heard," he had sneered as they pushed through the dense foliage, "Your mother was a dancing girl from the west deserts. A whore."

"Nobody knows who my mother was. You better shut up about her." Her fists shook, "Or else I'mma' get you good, right in your ugly face."

"And what kinds of words are these for a child of God?" the supervising knight said coolly, ruffling her hair harshly so that she flinched under his strong hands. He said nothing of reprimand to his young apprentice. In all honesty she hadn't thought much about it. If she thought speaking graciously won you God's favors, she'd have expected the priestesses to all live much longer than they often did. Instead they – and their male counterparts too of course - seemed to die by the dozens in various ways, but most related to Glast Heim somehow. Fall was not too worried that a bit of "lip" every now and then should affect her longevity so very greatly. Besides, if He was anything like they said He was, she supposed He'd forgive her.

"A- at any rate," Irian stuttered in an attempt to break the tension "We'll be there soon. Look, I can almost see the mouth of the cave."

"I don't see anything," Takraf announced irritably. Fall graciously informed him, "That's because you don't have an archer's eyes."

"And I suppose a runt like you would?"

"Yes," she said with a flip of her hair, "because I'm amazing and a prodigy child."

"Hmmph!" He folded his arms and looked critically at her. "Isn't pride supposed to be a sin, aco'?"

"You just be glad stupidity isn't, else you'd be damned for sure." Lysia couldn't contain a giggle at this, and the joke improved as Takraf began to yell futile retorts, with bad grammar. All fell silent at the disapproving grunt of the knight behind them and remained so until they reached the entrance to their destination. They hovered on the doorstep of something undoubtedly sinister, peering in. Not even Lysia or Irian could see into the darkness from outside.

"So," the knight muttered in a gravely tone, "are we all clear on what we do in here?"

"We shoot," Lysia confirmed.

"I slice things."

"And I -" _cover everyone's ass._ "Heal."

"Very good." He edged them forward, and slowly each figure slipped into the darkness. "In you go now."

Stepping in was almost like going though a vale that sucked light away. Though the entrance glowed brightly behind her, it seemed all light was lost after that. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust and see Lysia ready with her bow waiting, Irian standing behind her and Takraf still rubbing his eyes. The air was considerably colder and harder to breathe, it was thicker. Strange sounds signaled that something moved in the darkness, which was slowly becoming more and more clear as her eyes were able to catch a subtle glow from somewhere farther in the cave. "What was that?" she wondered softly, her bravado fading.

"Didn't you bother to read the report on what's in these caverns?"

"No," she admitted.

"Poporings."

"Familiars."

"Zombies."

"Zombies...?"

"Dead people," Lysia said. "Corpses who have come alive again." Well, she knew _that_, but nobody had told her there would actually be any in here.

Irian laughed a little, "that would explain the smell."

"Smell? Dead people? I don't want to." Fall yelped when the knight pushed her forward roughly. "You lot are wasting time. We only have so long before nightfall and we'll have to return to Payon village. Get going."

"There are zombies in Glast Heim, too..."

So she and Aaviel would be fighting the same thing. Fall wondered if she was ready for that. But of course the church wouldn't send her somewhere she couldn't survive already, and if anyone was going to get killed she was sure God would make the right decision and kill Takraf first. But Aaviel… he must've come back already. It'd taken them the better half of a month to travel to Payon, even if he and the others were late coming back from Glast Heim he'd have arrived by now. Or did he not come back at all? The thought chilled her more than the thick, stale air of the caves.

No, of course he...

Skritch skritch.

"Stop." Fall recognized Lysia's voice even as the echoes of the cave distorted its sound, though her figure and Irian's were merely shadows. "What? What is it?" Takraf shoved her aside to move to the _back_ of their group. "I don't hear or see anything."

"No," the acolyte breathed. "Listen."

Scratching, yes. She could hear it now, and so could he.

"Light, Acolyte."

"Oh, um..." her mind stumbled over the words to the proper spell. She summoned it with the final word of the incantation as it played in her head, "Ruwatch."

Like spirits, two glowing balls of blue shot out from around her, circling her and illuminating the cave. They were in one of the smaller passageways, surrounded by damp walls and ahead of them loomed an eerie figure with discolored skin and at times visible bones. Though Fall only had a second to gasp at it, Lysia had reacted immediately and sent her first arrow into its shoulder. The zombie groaned but did not seem to react otherwise and Irian quickly followed the other archer's lead. When it was successfully 'pin-cushioned' with arrows Fall at last found her voice and cast heal, watching the decomposing body crumble away with the final attack. She could swear she saw something bright escape from the decrepit husk as it sank to the ground.

"Well that's over with." Takraf said in a relieved tone.

"_You_ didn't do anything at all!" Lysia scolded, as she and Irian turned around to face him, though hr seemed to be looking past the swordsman. "You're supposed to be here at the front!"

Oh, Fall was grinning like a madwoman now as Takraf stuttered nonsense, preparing a reply.

"Guys," Irian said with a sort of nervous lilt in his voice. "Where's Sir Dhar'el?"

"Who's that?" Fall muttered, barely finishing her question before Lysia cut in with "Oh dear god, girl..."

"Dhar'el," he said again with a nervous smile, the darkness closing in now. "Our knight. Where is our knight?"


End file.
